


Drunken misunderstanding

by atalanta126



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Clueless Sherlock, Drunk John, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I think., Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Groping, Pining John, inconclusive ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atalanta126/pseuds/atalanta126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Oh, yes. Went to his flat a few years back, he was kissing......well more like being snogged against the wall by this bloke, Victor or something, they seemed rather, well busy, so I left them there.'<br/>'I see',muttered John, as he downed another glass and a few more after that.<br/>Getting drunk into oblivion didn't seem like a bad idea suddenly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from.

The world had never seemed fair to John Watson, sure he had a quite satisfactory life, minus his drunkard father, sister and divorced mother, but if it had been fair he certainly wouldn't have ended up standing in front of his flatmate who had fallen asleep on the couch; looking for all the world like the sweet innocent virgin in a fairy tale. His curls were spread on the couch creating a halo around his face, his eyes were closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks and the cupid's bow was slightly parted.  
Sherlock was breathing gently, his shirt not quite hiding a jutting collarbone and his blue gown had fallen off one shoulder. He looked like a picture, and John's heart ached. Maybe this was why he couldn't get attached and make his heart melt for his sleep mussed girlfriends, they never managed to paint a picture as appealing as Sherlock, unknowingly, did. Running his eyes over Sherlock's prone figure he put a blanket over him. It wasn't as if Sherlock was interested in any romantic relations, much less ones with a boring old doctor.  
All he needed was Sherlock's friendship, since he couldn't have anything more. Sherlock had said he was bored and finally gotten tired of shooting holes in the wall. John sat back on his chair leaned back and sighed, yes, having something that you want tantalise you everyday was certainly unfair.

............................................

 

A whirlwind paced down the carpet. 'Of course she's innocent. No it's the brother, just because she's the one who didn't cry doesn't mean she killed their father. Don't be an idiot Lestrade, the brother did not get along as well with their father as she did. He spent half his life in a boarding school. The father and daughter shared a lot of interests, see the pictures in her room, the man was stabbed, yes, it was the son. Go arrest him and get me a real case.', ordered Sherlock.  
John looked up from the book he was reading, Sherlock was pacing the carpet again.  
'One, two, three...and..',counted John...

'Jaawwn',whined the overgrown toddler, namely, Sherlock. 'John, I'm bored'.  
He shifted in his chair. The material was soft and warm, he had been sitting there with his cup of tea for a long time. He eyed his flatmate before saying solemnly,'I know'. Hans Solo anyone. He shook his head at himself. Sherlock eyed him speculatively.  
'Well, it was not a hard thing to deduce, John. If you are already aware of the problem find me a solution.'  
"Right, err, deduce me.'  
A raised eyebrow. John wondered if he should feel indignant.  
Then Sherlock licked his lower lip and he forgot what he had been thinking.  
'You are going on a date, wait, no. An outing with a friend. Casual trousers, but one of your nice jumpers. Second best shoes. Going to a pub. Highly likely. Ate a biscuit sometime ago. Brush off the crumbs, John.' Sherlock stood in one fluid motion, his hand resting on John's chest for a fraction of a second dusting off the aforementioned crumbs.  
'...Right, so I'm off to the pub. It's my pub night with Greg. I'll see you then', muttered John.  
'Greg?'  
'Greg.'  
Blank look. John wondered if he should feel exasperated but he couldn't find it in himself to feel anything other that fond.  
'Gregory. Gregory Lestrade.' said John.

'Understood. Come back soon, I have a case ready.'

............................

 

He sat in the pub and they discussed sports, politics, crime rate in London and Sherlock. It was a pity that black curls and long lashes hiding glasz eyes sprang up in his mind whenever he looked at potential dates.  
'No flirting tonight', teased Greg.  
'I'm not in the mood tonight', he shrugged. 'Besides I just broke it off with...Jenny last week, Sherlock hated her. I can't even begin to imagine introducing another girl to him.'  
Greg nodded. One of the best things about Greg was his understanding nature. 'I feel for you, mate. I wouldn't want to introduce my girlfriend to Sherlock either. I wonder if he's this difficult when he's dating too.'  
John had already drunk more than enough, his head felt light, so he went ahead and drank another glass.  
'Sherlock. Dating?'  
Greg coughed, turning a bit pink.  
'Oh, yes. Went to his flat a few years back, he was kissing......well more like being snogged against the wall by this bloke, Victor or something, they seemed rather, well busy, so I left them there.'  
'I see',muttered John, as he downed another glass and a few more after that.  
Getting drunk into oblivion didn't seem like a bad idea suddenly.

..........................

Getting a cab was harder than normal. John manged somehow.  
'221Beee Bakersstreet.',he slurred.  
'Sure, mate.',said the cabbie.  
'Yes. Hone. Home. Holmes.',he muttered to himself.  
The cabbie chuckled.

..........................

 

He climbed up the staircase, managing to stumble only two times.  
'Careful, dear.' called Mrs. Hudson.  
John stumbled through the doorway.  
Sherlock was on his couch sitting wrapped up in his blanket, his back towards John. His face was turned and John saw his lips were redder than usual. 'Thinking', his brain supplied before his body decided the blood would be better utilised in the south. He wondered how Sherlock's lips would taste. He wondered if Victor had ever bit or sucked that long neck.  
'John, please do try to be serious about the Work. Your getting drunk is not conducive to it at all.'  
''M sherious,'bout the Work.'  
Sherlock looked slightly amused.The bastard. 'Are you?'  
'Yes. 'M serious. In fact, 'M goin' to get married to it.'  
That seemed to make Sherlock even more amused. 'I see. I was not aware that the Work was this important to you, John. My apologies.'  
'It's 'kay. You're im...important to me, you know.'  
And it suddenly occurred to John that maybe kissing Sherlock would make Sherlock realise how important the latter was to John.  
Sherlock looked perplexed, John could take that expression off his face. So John did the only thing that made sense he grabbed Sherlock's wrists with one hand and kissed him. He tasted good. Like tea, and strawberries. He smelled like strawberries too. Probably all those fancy posh products he used.  
Sherlock seemed to have gone into shock. John groped Sherlock's arse and nudged his straining erection against the soft globes. His arse was quite lush for someone so thin and delicate looking. He groaned into Sherlock's mouth nipping the soft bottom lip. Sherlock's lips were soft and he spared a moment's thought to how they would look wet and wrapped around his hard cock. He jabbed his tongue inside the slack mouth, Sherlock finally whimpered and the sound made his already hard cock stand at attention. He moaned and left Sherlock's mouth in favour of biting his pale neck.  
This was perfect, he could do this all the time...and he hadn't even fucked Sherlock yet. He didn't blame Victor for taking this untouchable creature against the wall but it did make him feel possessive and more than a little envious. But now he had Sherlock beneath him. No one else mattered, he thought, as he grabbed two handfuls of Sherlock's arse, sucking the place he had bitten. Yes, perfect.  
Sherlock decided to move at that moment and John let him sit up, not that he was in a state to do much. And all he could do was grin in a silly alcohol induced manner at the image Sherlock presented. He legs were spread and he was hard(really, he looked irresistable and John couldn't quite breathe), his lips were red from being bitten and his hair were tussled.  
'John',gasped Sherlock.  
'Sh'lock', smiled John.  
'John, you are drunk. What are you doing? Why are you doing this?',asked Sherlock.  
And John suddenly noticed that Sherlock looked quite confused and slightly alarmed. 'That won't do', he decided.  
'I want you, Sh'lock. Come 'ere. We don' have to fuck. I'll jus' kiss you.'he reached out like the drunken man he was and grabbed Sherlock's shoulder  
'No, John sleep. We will...', Sherlock looked uncertain for a moment 'talk about this in the morning. Go to sleep.'  
'Right. Jus' a kiss, Sh'lock, a goodnight kiss.', he pleaded.  
Sherlock looked guilty before he leaned forward to kiss him. He fell asleep to the sensation of soft lips on his own chapped ones and hands cradling his head, laying him down. 

.....................

He couldn't think. His head felt like it was going to burst. A hangover. How much had he drunk last night? He groaned and sat up.  
'Good morning, John. Tea. It'll help with the hangover.', said Sherlock.  
'Ta, Sherlock', he said, feeling a surge of gratitude towards Sherlock.  
He had dreamt of Sherlock again yesterday night, taking Sherlock on the couch. He shifted, getting an erection under Sherlock's intent gaze wasn't going to be easy to explain.  
He didn't remember anything from last night. He remembered Greg telling him about Victor and the rest was all gone.  
Sherlock was still looking at him.  
He raised his eyebrow.  
'Do you...feel alright', asked Sherlock.  
'As fine as can be expected with a hangover', he said dryly.  
'I see.', said Sherlock looking down at his lap. John looking at his pale neck longingly wishing he...there was a mark on it. There was a love bite on Sherlock's neck. And as quick as his fury had risen it ebbed away.  
'We need to go to the bank, John.', said Sherlock getting up and as he turned, John looked at Sherlock's arse wondering if someone had had the pleasure of taking it too.  
He had decided to be content with friendship. And the mark on his neck showed, if nothing else, that Sherlock was definitely not interested in him. Ignoring his sinking heart he got up and followed Sherlock.  
He failed to see Sherlock's quivering lips and his vulnerable eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is welcome but please don't be unsavoury. I'm new here and this is my first work so I hope you are able to forgive me for any mistakes I may have made. Thank you for reading!:)


End file.
